headin' back

Headed back to the city tomorrow. Mixed feelings. All I really want to do is go back to North Carolina, and I am hoping a job comes through. I can't see myself in NYC much longer - it is killing my spirit inside and out, and taking a toll on my body. I'm looking forward to classes - I have some awesome teachers, including Sheila Heti and Honor Moore. It's a full load, so it's gonna be nonstop. And then "fake" graduation and then thesis time and job time. good times. :)

And you know, people can say what they want, but I have had two years to do what I love - read and write - with the added bonus of a hefty fellowship covering much of tuition. I have talked with some of the brightest and most interesting people to me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. Yes, the MPH was practical.....but this, the MFA....this was my heart. And it has filled me with such joy, that even during frustrating or angering times, I am always glad I took this chance. Even when the thought of the new student loan payments hits me, I try to achieve a Zen state and think everything will work out. Karma, you know?

home stretch.

Classes start Monday and already I have to finish a book for Wednesday. I would expect nothing less from this program. I'm excited for this semester - Mary Karr is coming to speak, I'm applying for fellowships and jobs, it might mean my time in the city is coming to an end......the possibilities are endless! Last semester was disillusioning for many reasons, and maybe it was my own naivete and foolishness that added to it. I had assumed simple manners; apparently that's optional nowadays. I haven't read nearly as much as I've wanted to, nor have I writtten....almost at all. here's to hoping I kick it into high gear.

one month later.

It's been a month since the Sandy Hook shootings. Not many news things affect me like this one has. Yesterday, my nephew was playing around and then fell on the floor and said, "I'm dead!" and immediately I said "G-d forbid" and explained to him that that's not funny. But for a split second, I could see those tiny bodies laying in classrooms or next to a teacher. Mickey Mouse shirts or little Uggs. His little body, sprawled on the floor, hit it home for me. I cannot even begin to fathom what the first responders had to witness and work with. TIME magazine voted Obama as "Man of the Year." Give me a fucking break. Aside from politics, The 6 teachers that died protecting the school and students have done more than he will ever do. The teachers who hid their students in closets and locked them into bathrooms and huddled under desks with them - these are the real heroes. In Judaism, there is a saying that if you save one life, it is like you have saved a world - because of all the things that person will do to create a ripple effect. 26 worlds were destroyed a month ago. Countless others are still picking up pieces, trying not to panic while walking in school, or saying goodbye to their other children while an empty bedroom continues to whisper.

I'm volunteering at my nephew's kindergarten class for a little bit as a "teacher's aide" on Wednesday. For the first time ever, I feel stirrings of nerves about going into a school. Has it really come to this, getting buzzed in at elementary schools, metal detectors in middle and high schools, requiring students to wear ID badges......my school days were very different, and I'm thankful for that. It seems like such an innocent time period. Well, it WAS before Columbine.

I guess I'm just trying to sort this all out in my head; I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about those who were killed, and what their families must be going through. Maybe it's my psychology background, I don't know. Maybe it's my love of children. But I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the horror of that day.
Pura Vida bracelets are handmade bracelets that create jobs for local Costa Ricans and donate money to various charities. They have a Sandy Hook bracelet for $5 and 100% of the proceeds go to the Sandy Hook Family Foundation. This provides ongoing support for the 26 families who lost loved ones. Unfortunately, it's not green and white, the school colors, but it is a light aqua color. When asked, PV replied that the color reminded them of angels. So why not, instead of that latte you were gonna buy, buy one of these instead. Things can change in an instant. A month ago, 26 families found that out in the most brutal way ever.

Warm Whispers and Precious Things

I'm lying on my bed, trying to finish "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," because I've somehow managed to evade it all through my English classes. I love it; I'm almost at the end but it's one of those books that you don't want to end, you want to stay with the characters a little longer.
I'm listening to a playlist on Spotify, and what should come on is Missy Higgins's "Warm Whispers." I love this song. I found it while at UNC and I can't tell you how many times I sat at my desk, trying to figure out biostatistics while listening to music that kept my spirit intact. The song reminds me of my running group, who, to this day, I think about often - the runs on the concrete, the trail runs, the sprints, everything. How veneers slowly came off as we sweated and pushed out bodies to keep going.
The next song is "Precious Things," one of my very favorite Tori Amos songs (but let's be real, I kind of like all of them). I love the angry pounding of the piano, the righteous anger in the song. There is a force to that song.

Music has always been a part of my life. It's been there when I felt hopeless and my family was turned upside down. It was there when, in high school, I listened to Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" at Lilith Fair, and decided I wanted to live, and made up my mind to agree to try antidepressants. It's been there during frat parties where we drank semi-warm beer from cups and thought that these were the days we'll remember, these are the days  - singing "Livin' on a Prayer," "Glory Days," and so forth. I can't help but smile when I hear those songs. Study sessions with Manda, with Ani DiFranco or Sarah McLachlan in the background. "Build Me up Buttercup" was our unofficial sorority song. Norah Jones got me through the move to Florida and the confusion I felt that I made the wrong choice. Guster was a big deal in college. Phish - man, I saw them in concerts a lot. Now those are great memories.

lately, this is my life soundtrack:
"Dirty Love" by Ke$ha
versions of "Hallelujah"
"Hot Topic" by Le Tigre
"Napoleon" by Ani DiFranco
"Carolina in my Mind" by James Taylor
"Skinny love" by Birdy
"Come Alive" by Jes Hudak
"Let it Be" by the Beatles

What are the songs that define us? Or add color to the mosaic that is yourself? What songs do we turn to in moments of sadness, or joy, or anger? How does our personal soundtrack change over time? Interesting thought.
Here's Missy Higgins, with "Warm Whispers." The video is just a picture with the song going - all the live videos I saw weren't that great.

2013

A new year, a new start. First, some good news - I am going to be an aunt again! The baby is due in July, and I'm very excited. I've been collecting materials for my thesis and writing (though not as much as I should be) and I was able to do some freelance work. I have found a mentor for my thesis, and I plan on taking no more than a year of Research Arts. (hopefully just a semester). I'm applying for jobs down South that I am very excited about, and I continue to have blind faith that things will work out. Things happen for a reason.

A blog reader sent a nasty comment, which I chose not to publish - if I'm not mistaken, this person has done so several times before. You know what I was always taught? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all." What good comes out of putting other people down? Does it boost one's self-esteem? If so, that's a problem. All too seldom do we see kindness anymore, and hiding behind an anonymous name and screen makes it that much easier to hurt people. Whatever happened to the Golden Rule? sigh. I guess some of us just never left kindergarten.

Speaking of which, my nephew is doing wonderfully in kindergarten, and I am so proud of him. We went to the library and got some books, and now he wants to go again, which makes me happy. I like sharing the love of reading with him.
And of course, the Sandy Hook shooting - I still can't get it out of my mind. How do you tell your kids that their sibling has been shot? How does someone go into a school and shoot ANYONE, much less kids 6 or 7 years old? I admire the teachers who protected their students that day - those are the real heroes, TIME magazine. The special ed teacher who was found slumped over several students. The teacher who locked herself and her class in a bathroom and helped them stay calm and survive? And the students themselves - what courage it takes to go back to school. A place that was a safe haven, changed forever. Yes, it's a new building, but a class is missing. My heart breaks everytime I think about what those children must have been thinking.

The medicine for the tremors isn't working as well as I'd hoped; I fell down the steps twice in NC and my hands still shake. The good thing is, I get out of handling dishes and food! haha. No, seriously, I am hoping he maybe increases the dosage and it'll work out.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Art School Semester #3: Check.

This is it. I leave the city early tomorrow morning. I only have one semester of art school left. (Of courses, anyway - we have another 3 years to do our thesis, I plan on only taking one). I cannot believe the semester is over. In some ways this has trudged by - I remember the first day of school and thinking, "why are there so many first years in my classes?" because I didn't recognize anyone. And now we're making plans to workshop pieces, send book lists, hang out, etc. I had two amazing professors this semester, Eileen Myles (whom BUST magazine called "the rock star of modern poetry") and Rebecca Godfrey. Both had syllabi that introduced me to compelling new writers that broke the mold of the "literary canon" that's been full of dead white men. And the occasional mention of Virginia Woolf. And I felt more like an "artist" this semester than I have....ever, I think.

High Points of the Semester:
1. Having Eileen Myles as a prof and actually like, having conversations with her.
2. Meeting author Laurie Weeks (also mentioned in Hot Topic song and was a screenwriter for "Boys Don't Cry") and having her tell me to *trust myself*, even though you'll be told not to.
3. Reading. In public. With the rest of Eileen's class. We put it together at a gallery, had Bob Gluck come, Cecelia Dougherty was there (another Hot Topic mention), and we had a pretty big turnout, if I do say so myself. I was terrified, but I did it.
4. Becoming facebook friends and email buds with Lidia Yuknavitch, whose memoir is just so kick-ass-tastic and called Holden Caulfield a "whiny little bitch." ha!
5. Visits to the Strand.
6. Getting to know more first-years, who are a pretty great bunch.
7. Having two Australian roommates who are normal and not crazy and actually eat Vegimite.
8. My discovery of Old Navy performance fleece. Why did no one tell me about this before? Why wear anything else?

Low Points of the Semester:
1. Still trying to figure out thesis....illness/death memoir of aunt, Southern lit's influence on me.....we shall see. Maybe I will just write ALL THE THINGS.
2. All this medical stuff which has, as of right now, been diagnosed as Essential Tremor. It used to be called Benign Essential Tremor, but it is far from benign. It's a progressive neurological condition that causes, you guessed it, tremors. I have bad ones in my hands, legs, and a slight one in my head, that the neuro picked up. But my doctor is wonderful - he is one of those doctors that you really just want to thank for being who he is - never rushed, thoughtful, personable, treats you as a person.....too bad he's married. Cause I think he's Jewish, too. :(
3. Financial cost of living in NYC.
4. Dropping the famous J-school book seminar I earned my way into.
5. Having one of the meds my doc put me on have the same effect as Ambien does on me - I woke up the next day to a "thank you for your order" email from Old Navy that I had no recollection of. Thankfully, my medicated me simply did holiday shopping for other people's gifts. Practical, even when drugged.
6. My pre-Thanksgiving subway/cab/running adventure with a first year, Hal. It was like a bad holiday movie. The subway was held up, we got out and tried to get a cab, no luck, we're running through Penn Station.......yeah. He offered to hold my bag. He's quite the gentleman. But he's like, 22. A fetus.

I'm actually surprised there are more high points, because it's been a rough semester emotionally and physically, but I think the ET has had a lot to do with it. When you have a chronic condition but it's invisible, people think you're fine. No one would ever give up a seat on the subway for me, even though sometimes my legs shake very badly. (But I'd give it to an old person first). When I bail on events because I have to come home after class and nap because a two hour period of being "on" is exhausting, it's hard to explain that to people. Since we thought maybe it was MS in the beginning, I found a pretty cool group of young people on Instagram, Twitter, etc, who have MS. They completely understand when I feel like people think I have the DTs because I shake - because sometimes people think they're drunk if they slur or off balance. They understand the sheer fatigue that really no sleep can make better. And they have a wicked sense of black humor.

I have a lot to do over break. Write. Read. A lot. More. It was my goal to read 200 books this year; I've surpassed that and now am trying to hit 300, but I'm not sure it will happen. got some catching up to do.
good times.

gift to myself.

By the time I post this, it will be my birthday. My 32nd birthday. It almost doesn't seem real. Like, this means I am actually an adult. I am in my early 30's. Has life turned out the way I planned? Hell no. Am I happy with this life? Most of the time. I am happy that I am privileged enough to have these two years of writing, I am happy that I found a home in Chapel Hill, and I am lucky to have wonderful friends and family. I never thought I'd be an aunt by now, and for that, I am immeasurably grateful. But I've been thinking a lot about life, and I figured now's a good a time as any to make this announcement.

In three years, I will be 35. Or as OB/GYNs like to call it, "advanced maternal age." Having worked in maternal-child health, I know my fertility has already probably taken a nosedive before I turned 30. In fact, I like to envision my eggs bouncing around my ovaries with bifocals on, Depends, pushing walkers, and using canes. Some cracks here and there, but they're mine. I know women have had babies later in life. My own doctor had her daughter as a single mother at the age of 42. Sandra Bullock adopted in her 40s. So here it is: If I do not meet THE GUY before I turn 35, I am wholeheartedly pursuing single motherhood by choice. (SMBC). Lots of women do it. I know I would be an excellent mother. Without a doubt. I know it's hard work. But I am not willing to forgo the experience of being a mother just because I don't meet the right guy in time. If I have to have IVF, IUI, adopt - I don't care. I'd freeze my eggs now, if I had the money. My child does not have to look like me to be mine. Whether it comes to me or through me, whether it grows in my uterus or my heart, it really doesn't matter. My child(ren) are out there somewhere, and when the time is right, it will happen.

I've been thinking about this for a while, because there's almost nothing more that I want than to become a mother. Being with kids and taking care of them is one of the few things that comes naturally to me, that I don't second-guess myself at. It's a no-brainer. But it's not like you can really post this on your Facebook page or make an announcement at Thanksgiving dinner - hey, if I don't meet the right guy, I'm knocking myself up! Not quite. But knowing that I have a plan in mind, knowing that I do not have to give up being a mother if I don't find the right guy, makes me very happy. It makes my heart settle. And maybe things don't have to follow the order of that childhood rhyme we were all taught - maybe a baby can come first, then love, then marriage. In the end, does it really matter, anyway?

18 miles of my heart

After living in the city for more than a year, I have come to know that I need places of refuge - places where I can go and lose myself and forget everything around me. One of those places has become the Strand. Tourist snark aside, what's not for me to love? It's a musty, old, sprawling bookstore with 18 miles of books, new and used. There are hidden corners with tables stacked with books you never knew you needed, and most, if not all the books, are discounted. I recently found the $2 galley section, which was great, but they've massively cut that back, which is uber-disappointing. But seriously? I could stay here all day. Just wandering the aisles, smelling the books, marveling at how many stories are held in this building. And right across the street is The Bean, a really cool coffee place that has the best iced pumpkin coffee.
When I walk into the Strand, I relax. My shoulders drop and immediately I can breathe easier. I am among books and those who love them. It's like a treasure hunt, always looking for the next great book.  Or sitting in an aisle, people-watching and eavesdropping on conversations. The Strand has captured my heart.
And their tote bags are adorable. I don't care if they're touristy. So are backpacks. so there.

this song still makes me cry.

Tonight, as I walked out of my brother's house on our way to dinner, I smelled, for the first time this season, someone burning their fireplace. It smelled so good. You don't get that in NY. It's so nice, the relative quiet here. NY is jangling my nerves like no other. It is ALWAYS noisy, always over-sensory, alwaysalwaysalways.

so, I admit, I have ben listening to James Taylor more than I probably should, and looking forward to going down South to recharge. I need this. My body, soul and health need it.

thanks a lot

Trey and I, at our best.

So it's been a while. This semester has kicked my ass seven ways from Sunday. Everyone is feeling it, and Thanksgiving break could not come at a better time. This year, the holiday season is disorienting a little bit. Last year it was full of grief, sickness, anticipatory mourning, sadness and death. From Thanksgiving right on up through Jan 1. It is weird to be back in the "normal" world, if that makes sense. For the first time, I will not be going to my aunt's for Thanksgiving. This is odd to me. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. Because this time last year, each of us had our thing we were bringing for dinner. I think the whole thing still surprises me and catches me off guard.

That being said, I am very thankful for so many things this year.
1. as always, my nephew Trey
2. my family, for everything - really
3. my health - even with the recent Essential Tremor dx, I am thankful that it is not a bad tremor and that I am in the hands of such a great doctor
4. memories

It feels odd to make a list, because there's so much going on in my head that I am thankful for all of it and nothing is coming out right. Life has been discouraging and frustrating lately. But I'm alive. I still get a smile on my face when "Fame" comes on my iPod when I'm walking to school or on the subway. Or when "Sweet Child O'Mine" comes on, and I remember singing to Trey as a baby. I am thankful for friends who have stood the test of time, and for sorority sisters who, even after 10 years of no contact, will offer to drive you if you need to go anywhere because of your health stuff. I am thankful for my Narrative Medicine people. For professors who go the extra mile. For established writers who make time for "nobodies" - you guys are my rock stars, pretty much. For J.Crew, aka Garanimals for adults. For Starbucks red cups. For my Jeep. For the books whose pages I've dogeared and passages I've underlined so many times the pen bleeds through the page. For Carolina blue and being a Tar Heel. For monogramming. I'm thankful that my brother has made such a wonderful life for himself and is a wonderful daddy. For people who saw me apply to this MFA program 6 years ago and not get in, and are taking this journey with me now. I am thankful for music. For the feel of Trey's hand in mine and his excitement as we went to the "liberry" for the first time. I am thankful that I didn't give up this crazy dream of being a writer. I'm thankful for grace.

Grace.